If you’re paying attention, you know you’re supposed to be outraged because Kevin J. Anderson got nominated for a Hugo instead of Random Tor Discovery of the Month Writer.
And I would be outraged, really, if the Hugo Awards hadn’t devolved into a pile of politicized worthless shit that gave awards to worthless writers. Kevin J. Anderson sucks. So does John Scalzi.
If I have to live in a world in which Neil Gaiman, Michael Chabon and China Mieville get awards for just showing up (at least they can actually write) and in which John Scalzi and Cory Doctorow get nominations for just being around (they can’t write, not on that level) then don’t expect me to care about Kevin J. Anderson and Vox Day ending up there.
Sad Puppies didn’t nuke the fridge. John Scalzi did with a Hugo for Redshirts. The last time the Hugo Best Novel award wasn’t a joke was 2007 with Vinge and Rainbow’s End. It’s been a shitshow ever since.
I can’t even say if 2015 is worse than 2011 – 2014 when everyone stopped pretending that this was anything except insider blowjobs.
Finally the Hugos will be entertaining. We’ll get to see which slate recruits enough people to give a Hugo to Charlie Stross or Vox Day, Ted Chiang or Brad Torgensen, Mira Grant or whoever. We can stop pretending this has anything to do with merit and just watch the hair-pulling and name-calling.
The Hugos have a messy history, but there’s never been an ongoing shitshow like this when worthless writers are promoted because of politics, e.g. Ted Chiang, John Scalzi, N.K. Jemsin, and when insiders create the myth that a few of their darlings are the only ones worth watching.
If fandom is going to be an adjunct of The Onion’s A/R or The Mary Sue, then let’s just kill it now. It’ll be a mercy killing.
And say what you will about Sad Puppies, any list of short stories on which John C. Wright appears and “If You Were a Dinosaur, My Love” doesn’t is a major improvement in the genre.